


The Epic Tale of the Three Dubiously Wise Men

by Hils, lou_angel



Series: Epic Tales [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-31
Updated: 2008-12-31
Packaged: 2018-10-15 10:50:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10555088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hils/pseuds/Hils, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lou_angel/pseuds/lou_angel
Summary: Crack!fic crossover with Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter. It all started with a comment Anhora looked a bit like Gandalf and/or Dumbledore and descended into madness from there.





	

It had been a long day. Testing stubborn princes (successful), resurrecting unicorns (successful), setting up stubborn princes and their obtuse warlock manservants (unsuccessful) and Anhora was really in no mood for a game of Poker. But it was a Thursday. And Thursdays were Poker Nights.

The firewhiskey was in, nibbles were on the table, and as usual the other two were late. He knew that when they arrived there would be the usual excuses. “Death-Eaters got into the school,” or “I had to help destroy the One Ring.” There was always something with those two. Like being Keeper of the Unicorns was less important than either of their jobs

So Anhora helped himself to a glass of firewhiskey and sprawled into a chair thinking back over his infuriating day. The prince had actually shown promise! So close, and yet so far. Anhora did not relish the thought of updating his two friends about his (lack of) progress as a matchmaker. Which was, really, a stupid task to give someone who had such an important job as he did.

Honestly, he was starting to give up hope. The prince had actually openly admitted he was willing to die for his servant, had even told him to his face that he was glad they were spending his last moments together. But when he’d woken up...nothing. Perhaps locking them in a room together was the only solution, but he suspected they’d starve to death sooner than admit their feelings for each other.

Sometimes he really doubted that these two were destined for greatness because, well, they were brave and resourceful, but they were also very dim. There was a loud crack and the first of his guests appeared in the middle of the room.

“Sorry, Death-Eaters in the school,” he said peering over the top of his half moon spectacles. “Oooh, sherbet lemons!”

Anhora sighed. “Yes, I thought as much. Do you want a drink?”

There wasn’t time for an answer as his second guest barged in through the front door without knocking and muttered something about ‘bloody hobbits’ before taking a seat and helping himself to a drink.

“Destroying the One Ring still?” Anhora said drily.

“Got those two together yet?” snapped the newcomer.

“Now, Gandalf,” said the bespectacled man sucking a sherbet lemon, “this is no time to lose your temper.”

Anhora smiled triumphantly, “Thank you Albus,” and handed him the pack of cards to deal.

“So, have you got them together?” Dumbledore asked as he dealt the cards. “I’m merely asking out of curiosity.”

Anhora sighed. “It’s proving...complicated.”

Gandalf snorted. “Isn’t it always with you?”

“They both say they’ll die for the other,” Anhora ignored the interruption, “but they pretend it’s duty.”

Dumbledore nodded understandingly, “Young people are frustrating. I remember James and Lily! They sniped all the time and—” he broke off, “Well, it’s a shameful waste really.”

“So, are you admitting defeat?” Gandalf asked as he examined his cards whilst maintaining his poker face. “Or do you have some sort of devilishly cunning plan up your sleeve?”

“I could offer some advice,” Dumbledore offered, not unkindly. “I know how troublesome these young people can be.”

“I don’t need help!” Anhora snapped, more harshly than he’d intended. He knew his younger brother didn’t mean any harm. “I’ll think of something.”

“Sometimes the bravest thing is knowing when to give up,” Gandalf said.

“I am not giving up.” Anhora said through clenched teeth.

“I thought you were only supposed to be mentoring the Prince.” Dumbledore said, rearranging the cards in his hands “Isn’t there someone else talking to the young warlock?”

Anhora snorted. “Fat lot of good He is.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Hmm...yes, dragons can be difficult creatures.”

“That I’ll agree with,” added Gandalf.

“It would be fine,” Anhora continued, “if I could just get him to talk in simple sentences. He insists on using riddles and metaphors all the time. The warlock isn’t exactly the most intelligent person in the world. Sometimes I think drawings would help...”

“Dating for Dummies?” Gandalf suggested with a snigger.

“Someone should write that,” Anhora said glumly, “and give it to both of them for Christmas.”

“I think all of us are prone to using riddles now and again,” Dumbledore said with a meaningful glance over his glasses, “especially when we’re trying to be delicate about these things.”

“Why can’t you just tell the Prince, ‘Merlin actually wouldn’t mind if you pinned him up against the wall and stuck your tongue—’”

“Gandalf!” Dumbledore cringed, “Delicacy!”

Anhora rolled his eyes. “My dear Gandalf, if it was that simple do you not think I would have tried it already? The prince would just assume I was lying or insane. No, this needs something a little more delicate, as Albus says.”

“If it was me they’d have bedded each other by now,” Gandalf muttered. “Delicacy can only get you so far you know.”

“You would know,” Anhora grunted. “You’re the one who insisted Boromir ask Aragorn if he wanted to blow the Horn of Gondor.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Gandalf retorted hotly.

“Until Boromir died,” Anhora pointed out.

“Yes, well, that wasn’t my doing. It was The Ring.”

“How convenient,” Anhora muttered, “Anyway, Arthur had enough trouble accepting that shooting a Unicorn wasn’t a wise thing to do. I don’t think he’s that easily persuaded.”

“Maybe it’s not those two who are the idiots.”

“Gandalf,” Dumbledore warned.

“What are you saying?” Anhora demanded turning an angry shade of red.

“I’m saying a more skilled wizard would have the task completed by now,” Gandalf replied, ignoring the warning tones of his brother.

“Oh really?” Anhora asked. “I’d like to see you do any better. Either of you.”

“Deal,” Gandalf said ignoring Dumbledore’s squeak of protest. “Name your terms.”

“You’ve got until Sunday.” Anhora said, “And you can’t just tell them to get on with it,” with a glare at Gandalf’s smug smile.

“Delicately,” Dumbledore repeated.

“Yes, yes, delicacy, I’ve got it.” Gandalf said. “What do I win?”

“The satisfaction that you have helped unite two lost souls,” Anhora replied. “And I won’t run you through with a unicorn’s horn for being such a smug git.”

“And I won’t hit you with the Horn of Gondor!”

“Merlin’s beard!” cried Dumbledore, “Oh, wait...”

~

“Merlin, polish my sword!”

The young warlock found the offending item thrust at him without another word as Arthur stalked off to his room to change out of his sweaty clothes. He’d much rather be undressing Arthur than polishing his sword.

Arthur would quite like to have Merlin undress him but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could ignore the sensations that jolted through him every time his manservant’s fingers accidentally brushed against his bare skin. It was much safer this way. He jogged around the corner and straight into an elderly man who brushed aside his startled apology with a twinkling gleam over half moon glasses and said, “Greetings, Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur frowned, still wary from the last time he’d encountered a bearded old man. He certainly didn’t relish the thought of more trials and tests. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“We haven’t been introduced,” the man said evasively. “I’m Professor Dumbledore.”

Arthur blinked.

“Are you a friend of Gaius?”

“Not exactly, no. But we do share a mutual...friend.”

Arthur was starting to feel slightly nervous around the old man, more so than before. “Well, I hate to be rude but I really have to be going...”

The man clasped his arm in a surprisingly strong grip.

“I’m sorry about this, Arthur,” he said.

There was a loud crack and for a moment Arthur thought the ground had disappeared beneath his feet, before everything went black. The next thing he knew he was...somewhere. He couldn’t be sure where but he certainly wasn’t in the corridors of Camelot.

“You!” He accused, pointing at Dumbledore. “You’re a sorcerer AND you’ve kidnapped me. Does your life mean that little to you?”

“There are worse things in life than death.”

Arthur groaned. Another person who would not give him a straight answer. “My father will have your head for this.”

“I rather think not,” Dumbledore said quietly, “but that is not the issue.”

“Really?” Arthur asked dryly. “What is the issue then?”

“You will find out soon enough,” Dumbledore replied. “But in the meantime I suggest you amuse yourself. We could be here for...a while.”

“Someone will find me,” Arthur said defiantly.

“Yes, you will be rescued.” Dumbledore agreed pleasantly. “Sherbet lemon?”

“A what?” Arthur looked at the sweet suspiciously.

Suddenly, another bearded man appeared.

“There’s MORE of you?” Arthur cried.

“Oh, good, he’s here,” the newcomer said, ignoring Arthur’s outraged shouting. He took the sweet that had been offered to Arthur and popped it into his mouth. “Where’s the warlock?”

“Yes, Arthur,” Dumbledore said still unperturbed, “there are, as you say, More of us. I assume you do have old people with beards in Camelot?”

“Of course,” Arthur said, darting confused looks between Dumbledore—who did not seem to be particularly nasty despite being a sorcerer and a kidnapper—and the newcomer. “But— who—?”

“This is Gandalf,” Dumbledore introduced.

The newcomer grinned at Arthur, who was disturbed to think the grin would be better suited to a wolf.

“So...” Arthur said in what he hoped was coming over as a calm voice. “How many of you are there? And what exactly do you want with me?”

He almost wished Merlin was there, but only because things had a knack of working out in the end when Merlin was around.

“I don’t think I’ve ever counted,” Dumbledore mused and looked as if this was something he would take up.

“Well, we’re probably going to be here for ages whilst we wait for Merlin to come and get you,” Gandalf said flopping into a chair, “I don’t suppose you play poker do you?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Dumbledore said, fishing out a pair of knitting needles and half a sock from a pocket in his voluminous robes. “Tell me, Arthur, do you like music?”

Arthur, having decided that these two men were both clearly insane and it was probably best not to provoke them, simply shrugged. “I suppose so. Wait, why is Merlin coming? How does he know where I am? Did he put you up to this?”

“Because Merlin would so obviously conspire with sorcerers to have you kidnapped?” Dumbledore asked gently and Arthur realised that this was clearly an absurd idea. Quite ridiculous.

“I’m not dreaming am I?” he asked.

“Would you like me to pinch you?” Gandalf asked with an innocent expression on his face.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Dumbledore chastised. Arthur nodded his agreement.

“No, you’re not dreaming, Arthur. Just trust me and you’ll see that all of this is for your own good.”

Arthur privately thought that if he had to wait for Merlin to find him he’d probably be as old and grey as his captors, but he said nothing.

They sat with only the faint clicking of Dumbledore’s knitting needles breaking the quiet. Gandalf was dealing out cards and frowning at them on the table. Arthur wished he still had his sword, but somehow the thought of running his kidnappers through was distasteful and he was ashamed of thinking it. He was almost startled when Dumbledore pressed something into his hand.

“This should keep you entertained while we wait.”

He glanced down at the strange device in his hand, immediately suspecting it of being a product of dark sorcery. “What is it?”

“It’s an iPod,” Dumbledore said in a tone that bordered on reverence.

Arthur stared at the brilliant pink metallic object in his hand. Gandalf gave an exasperated sigh and leaned over to point to various parts of the device and explain how to use it.

“Music comes from this?” Arthur said sceptically, “Where does the band sit?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “It would be complicated to explain. Just trust me.”

Arthur pressed the things called ‘earphones’ into his ears and pressed part of the device. He almost fell over when music suddenly began to play _inside his head_.

“What is this awful noise?” he asked loudly over the sounds in his head. Dumbledore said something, but Arthur couldn’t hear him.

“He said MUSIC!” yelled Gandalf.

“Sounds nothing like the music I like!” Arthur said. Again, he couldn’t hear what Dumbledore said but he could tell that the man was chuckling at him and he frowned.

The ‘music’ was loud and invasive but not altogether unpleasant now that he was really listening. Maybe he just needed to get used to it, and anything that blocked out the sound of Gandalf had to be a good thing. A song ended and Arthur realised he had been humming along. He didn’t quite know the words—something about bringing ‘sexy back’ whatever that meant. It was rather catchy. He pressed a button and listened to the track again.

~

There was actually something quite relaxing about polishing Arthur’s sword. All it took was long, rhythmic sweeps up and down the shaft. Not a lot of effort required, which allowed him to think of other things. Things, not people, certainly not Arthur. Definitely not Arthur. Not how the sun had glistened off his (extremely well polished) armour, nor how his damp hair curled on his forehead at the end of training when he’d taken off his helmet. Okay so maybe a little about Arthur.

The sword looked perfect, like new, and glistened in the dim light of the armoury as Merlin gave it one final rub. Arthur would be pleased, or as close to pleased as he ever got. If Merlin was lucky Arthur would grunt and say something like ‘I’ve seen worse.’

Sometimes, if he was really lucky, Arthur would clap a hand on his shoulder in a friendly way and look at Merlin from under a floppy fringe in what was, Merlin imagined in his more fanciful moments, a somewhat coy manner. He’d probably be here soon, freshly bathed, to inspect and pass judgment on Merlin’s handiwork. And Merlin was not eagerly awaiting him. Not at all.

Time passed and there was still no sign of Arthur. Merlin wondered how long he should wait. It was possible the king had dragged Arthur off on some kingly business, or maybe Arthur had fallen asleep in his bath. Thinking about it, that was bad. If Arthur had fallen asleep in the bath he could drown and...

Merlin broke into a run.

He burst into Arthur’s chambers calling his name. There was no sign of a bath. No sign of the prince’s discarded clothing. No sign of the Prince at all, in fact. It was as if he had simply disappeared. Merlin’s first thought was to rush to the King but then it was likely that Arthur would leap out from behind a statue somewhere howling with laughter at Merlin’s panic and somehow it would all be Merlin’s fault and he’d end up in the stocks.

Instead he decided the easier option would be to ask Gwen to ask Morgana to ask the King. His heart sank when the message came back that no one had seen Arthur all day. His heart sank even further when he received word that the King had demanded to see him.

“It seems my son is missing,” Uther said gravely when Merlin entered the great hall. “And you were the last person to see him.”

Merlin knew this was going to lead to him being in the stocks. “Probably.”

“This is very serious,” Uther said, which Merlin knew, of course, but he wasn’t going to say. “I suspect—sorcery.”

Of course he did. Uther always suspected sorcery, but again Merlin simply nodded his head and said “Yes, your majesty.”

“Now, I insist you tell me everything that happened this day so that my knights can locate the sorcerer and kill him.”

Merlin did, rambling a little and tried to avoid voicing his own concern that Arthur had vanished into thin air, which was clearly impossible for anyone to do without sorcery and it wouldn’t do to have the King look a little closer to home for any possible source of magic. Despite Merlin not having much of any substance to tell, Uther seemed satisfied with his report and dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

As soon as he left Uther’s presence, Merlin headed for the one person who could help him locate Arthur, he hoped.

The dragon was waiting for him when he arrived and expressed little more than mild interest when Merlin told him Arthur had disappeared.

“That which is lost can soon be found again.”

“Where?” Merlin pleaded. “Please, if you know what’s happened to him you have to tell me.”

“What I can tell you is that you are closer to the young Pendragon now than you have ever been, but yet not close enough.”

“Do you spend all day thinking of these answers?”

“The idle mind will sometimes fall into contemplations that serve for nothing but to ruin the health, destroy good humour, hasten old age and wrinkles…”

Merlin looked at the Dragon and wondered if dragons even got wrinkles. Well, like humans did. And then realised that he had been distracted from his task.

“Do you know where Arthur is?”

“I know a great many things, Merlin,” the Dragon replied. “I know that a great many lives depend on you fulfilling your destiny.”

“Well, I can’t do that if I can’t find Arthur,” Merlin pointed out.

The Dragon huffed and smoke flared from his nose.

“You must let the words of great minds inspire and guide you.”

“And where might I find one of these great minds?” Merlin said, not caring that he was being quite rude to a giant fire breathing creature in his desperation to find Arthur.

The Dragon looked almost smug.

Merlin looked bored.

“The mind is a complicated thing,” the Dragon continued, no closer to giving a real answer about anything. “Do you know your own mind young warlock?”

Merlin knew he wanted to strangle the Dragon. “I know I want to find Arthur.”

“Do you know what you will do when you find the Young Pendragon?” the Dragon asked, less cryptic than usual.

“Rescue his royal arse again probably.”

“Has it occurred to you that Arthur is not the only one in need of rescue?”

“Uh, no.”

The Dragon sighed.

Although Merlin, perhaps, needed rescuing from his own stupidity in even thinking the Dragon would be of any use to him. But as no-one knew Merlin visited the Dragon, that was not going to happen any time soon. It was also, Merlin conceded, probably not what the Dragon meant.

“Are you saying that Arthur doesn’t need me?” he guessed, “Is it some sort of trap?”

“There are many traps in this world, not all of them dangerous.”

Merlin sighed. “Look, just give me a simple answer. Do I need to rescue Arthur or not?”

“First you need to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“A great many things.”

~

It was at times like this, with a tea tray balanced precariously on one hand, that Dumbledore regretted choosing not to use his magic to do simple tasks. He eventually managed to open the door and shuffled into the room. Gandalf hadn’t moved from his seat at the table, bent over his game of cards. Arthur, however, was slumped in a corner of the room and morosely singing something that Dumbledore couldn’t quite decipher.

“What did you do?” Dumbledore demanded with an accusing stare at Gandalf.

“Do?” Gandalf grunted without looking up from his cards. “I did nothing. You’re the one who gave him that...contraption.”

Dumbledore set the tray down and cautiously approached Arthur. “May I?”

When Arthur simply sniffed in response, Dumbledore carefully took the iPod from his limp hand and looked at the display. The Ultimate Tearjerkers. Oh, dear. Yes, that explained it.

Still, this could still work to their advantage. The fact that Arthur had been so affected by the music suggested—something. He patted Arthur’s shoulder reassuringly and went to pour a nice cup of tea.

Arthur let out a decidedly un-regal sniff and began to sing softly that ‘almost doesn’t count.’

Gandalf groaned, “Do we have to listen to that?”

Dumbledore frowned. “He’s evidently missing Merlin. That can only be a good thing.”

Gandalf tilted his head to one side as he considered this. Then a broad, impish grin stretched across his face. “So we just sit and wait for the warlock to arrive.” He reached for a cup of tea, “I knew it would be a piece of cake.”

Dumbledore glanced at his watch. It had been several hours since he’d abducted the prince, and although an idiot in the ways of love, the warlock was not entirely stupid.

“Perhaps...” he was almost loathe to suggest it. “Perhaps we should see what’s keeping him.”

“He is taking a rather long time.” Gandalf agreed.

“But what about...”Dumbledore nodded his head towards Arthur.

Gandalf snorted, “He’s one song away from eating a whole box of chocolates and watching a Richard Curtis film. I don’t think we need to worry much about him.”

Arthur was now softly crooning ‘I Want To Know What Love Is’ and didn’t even look up as Gandalf and Dumbledore vanished from the room.

~

“Secondly, you must understand…”

Merlin sighed. About half an hour into the first point the Dragon insisted Merlin understand (which he still didn’t comprehend after an hour’s explanation), he slumped against the wall, a sharp rock digging into his back in an effort to stay awake.

“…Two sides of the same coin…”

Merlin yawned.

“Oh, good lord,” Gandalf sighed as he and Dumbledore appeared inside the cave. “No wonder he’s late. I’m bored and we’ve only just got here.”

Merlin blinked. Great. He had fallen asleep. He pinched himself. No. Still awake. He stared in confusion at the newcomers and wondered how they’d arrived.

The Dragon looked flustered, as if he didn’t know whether to be annoyed at the sudden appearance of two robed and bearded strangers, or pleased that he had visitors. Finally, when he noticed that the two newcomers were looking at him expectantly he decided to continue his lesson.

“That yours and Arthur’s paths lie together is but the truth. So close together, you could say, on top of one another.”

Gandalf snorted and whispered to Dumbledore. “If the warlock doesn’t get it after this I’m stepping in.”

Merlin sighed. “Oh great, so he gets to trample all over me. As usual.”

Dumbledore felt that this probably wasn’t the right moment to smile, but the dumbfounded expressions that both Gandalf and the Dragon were wearing were very amusing. Gandalf was just opening and shutting his mouth like a fish and the Dragon snorted angry flames.

“Time to step in,” Dumbledore said softly to Gandalf.

Gandalf shook his head to clear the stupor caused by the warlock’s unbelievable stupidity and stepped forward, laying a hand on Merlin’s arm. “You, young warlock, are needed elsewhere.”

They disappeared as quickly as they arrived and no one heard the sigh of relief the dragon let out before he flew back to the top of his cave.

Merlin did not know whether to be frightened or relieved as he and his two—captors?—appeared in a room he did not know.

“How did you know I was a—” he broke off as he spotted Arthur in a corner.

“Arthur!”

“Merlin!” the Prince got to his feet and pulled the earphones out of his ears. “It’s about time too!”

“Oh dear,” Dumbledore said, “I think he may have moved past grief and onto anger.”

“I am NOT losing,” Gandalf frowned.

“What do you mean ‘about time’?” Merlin demanded. “I thought the mighty Prince Arthur didn’t need rescuing from anything.”

“I don’t!” Arthur retorted. “I was just biding my time and waiting for these two to let their guard down so I could escape.”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “Oh really. So why are you still here? I’m guessing they left you alone when they found me?”

Arthur glared at him.

Dumbledore and Gandalf exchanged worried looks.

The room was reverberating with suppressed magic. It was a wonder something didn’t explode.

And then something did.

It was Gandalf’s temper.

“Oh for goodness sake! Why can’t you two just get it on?”

Merlin blinked at him. “Get what on? Why did you bring me here exactly? And why did you kidnap Arthur?”

“We brought you here to reunite you with Arthur.” Dumbledore said gently, with a warning glance to Gandalf.

Gandalf, however, ignored him. “You know! It! On!”

Merlin shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do you need diagrams?!” Gandalf yelled.

“Uh...that might be helpful,” Merlin replied, glancing over at Arthur, who looked as clueless as he felt.

“Gandalf!” frowned Dumbledore.

“Are you talking about clothes?” Arthur suggested helpfully “Merlin’s actually getting quite good at putting on my armour now, aren’t you Merlin?”

Gandalf was slowly going purple. The room was humming with magic emanating from the three warlocks and Arthur was beginning to look a little woozy.

“Putting clothes on is no use. Quite the opposite,” Gandalf said through gritted teeth.

“Wouldn’t that be ‘getting it off’?” Merlin asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

“The phrase,” Gandalf hissed, “is ‘having it off’ and you two should have done it months ago.”

Dumbledore sighed. “I think you’ve just lost our wager.”

And as if to underline Dumbledore’s soft warning, the door crashed open and Anhora burst in.

“I knew it!” he crowed.

“Youuuu!” hissed Arthur, wobbling precariously as he lunged forwards.

Merlin only just managed to catch hold of him as he collapsed.

“Will someone tell me _what the hell_ is going on here?” Merlin demanded, a little alarmed at the force of his own voice.

While the three bearded men all looked at each other, seemingly to decide who would answer his question, Merlin sank to the floor with Arthur cradled against him. Already he was regretting his harshly spoken words to the prince.

“He’s all right,” one of the men finally said gently. “Unfortunately the presence of too many magic users in one place can have an adverse affect on those who do not possess it.”

Merlin couldn’t find words to answer and just nodded. The man who had spoken looked at him sympathetically over his half-moon glasses, ignoring the other two who had begun to bicker behind him. “Let me take you both home.” He said gently.

“Hold onto him.”

So Merlin clung tightly onto Arthur as the man laid a hand on his arm and the room disappeared.

~

When everything came back into focus they were in Arthur’s room. The prince was lying on the bed, eyes still closed and his face pale. Merlin and the other man, whoever he was, were standing at the bedside.

“I still don’t understand,” Merlin finally said when it became clear Arthur wasn’t going to wake up immediately.

“My dear Merlin,” the man smiled, “we can’t always understand everything at once. Some things take time.” Merlin must have looked alarmed at another person talking in riddles as the man rushed onwards, “Arthur will awaken. Do not worry about that.”

Merlin felt himself warming to the gentle tone and soft reassurances of the man before him.

“When he does, look in here,” the man tapped his chest where his heart lay, “and you’ll know what to do. Good luck.” And he disappeared.

For a moment all Merlin could do was stand there staring at the space that the old man had been occupying. This had been a strange day, even by his standards. Then his gaze fell on Arthur and before he could stop himself he’d reached out a hand and gently combed it through Arthur’s hair. Merlin had become so used to thinking with his head and hiding what was in his heart that if he paused to think about what his heart wanted, his head took over and he got even more confused.

He quickly withdrew his hand when Arthur let out a soft moan, a smile curling on his lips as his eyes started to flutter.

“Merlin,” he said when his eyes finally opened. “I had the strangest dream.”

It would have been so easy for him to lie, to let Arthur believe it had all been inside his head. He was almost surprised when he found himself saying, “It wasn’t a dream.”

“Oh.”

“Do you know what those men wanted with you?” Merlin asked after a pause. “Did they—did they hurt you?”

Arthur blinked and pushed himself up into a sitting position. “No, it was strange. They gave me music to listen to and tea to drink. They said they were waiting for a warlock to arrive. I suppose that must have been the unicorn keeper. I don’t remember anything after he arrived.”

Merlin let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“Although,” Arthur frowned, “they did say you would come and find me.” He smiled up at Merlin, “And you did.”

“Um—” Merlin wondered how to explain this.

“Merlin, stop hovering over me like I’m an invalid,” Arthur said suddenly. “Sit down.” Merlin sat abruptly on Arthur’s leg.

“Ow,” Arthur grunted. “That’s not quite what I had in mind.”

“Sorry!” Merlin leapt to his feet and went to grab one of Arthur’s chairs.

“Never mind,” Arthur sighed. “How about I get up and we both sit down.”

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, or he attempted to anyway. As soon as he was upright he started to sway and the room swam in and out of focus.

“Oooh,” Arthur reached out a hand to grab hold of the nearest thing. Which was Merlin’s neckerchief.

“I’ve got you,” Merlin said in a slightly strangled voice as he slid his arms around Arthur to steady him.

“Thank you,” Arthur sighed as Merlin helped him back onto the bed. He scooted over slightly so there was room for Merlin to sit down beside him.

“Well,” he said with a small smile. “It’s been a strange day.”

For a while neither of them spoke.

“Do you feel better now?” Merlin ventured.

“I feel a bit light-headed.” Arthur admitted.

“Before he went, the man with the glasses said I should look in my heart when you woke up and I’d know what to do.” Merlin confessed.

“What does your heart say?” Arthur asked with a broad smile.

Merlin licked his lips nervously.

“Uh...well, it says that...I...um...”

As he struggled to find the right words, Arthur leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his lips

“That’s what my heart tells me,” he said with a small smile as he pulled back.

Merlin responded by kissing him back; this time it was a proper kiss, long and deep.

“Mine too,” he whispered when they eventually pulled apart.

“You,” Arthur said breathlessly, “have no idea how much I—” but Merlin’s insistent lips wouldn’t let him finish so he decided to demonstrate by tugging impatiently at Merlin’s clothes.

Finally Merlin’s kisses ceased long enough to allow him to work at removing Arthur’s clothes. Arthur seized the moment and used it to gently nibble Merlin’s earlobe.

“I love your ears,” he whispered. “I love all of you.”

Deep beneath Camelot, the Dragon and his associates were staring open mouthed at a magically conjured screen.

“Okay, so you managed it,” Anhora admitted grudgingly.

“Finally!” Gandalf exclaimed.

The Dragon was flapping his wings happily and imagining what sort of fabulous hat he would wear if the prince and the warlock were ever allowed to marry.

“Oh good,” Gandalf was saying as Arthur accidentally ripped Merlin’s shirt, “that was a hideous shirt.”

“I think we should leave them to it.” Dumbledore said firmly and with a wave of his wand the screen disappeared. “Anyone for a firewhiskey?”

Anhora shot Gandalf a smug look. “Do you concede that getting those two together was not as easy as you claimed?”

“No.” said Gandalf. “It was a piece of cake.”

“You know,” Anhora replied calmly, “Unicorns are surprisingly good at killing people. You might want to take that into consideration.”

Gandalf snorted but he didn’t say anything else.

Dumbledore handed around the firewhiskey and raised his glass to toast Arthur and Merlin.

The subjects of the toast were quite occupied discovering what else was in their hearts.

The End


End file.
